


Morning

by inconspicuous_traveler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Far From Home
Genre: Aftercare, Bottom Peter, Bottom Peter Parker, Fluff, M/M, Mysterio - Freeform, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Far From Home Trailer, Top Quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 16:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inconspicuous_traveler/pseuds/inconspicuous_traveler
Summary: Peter and Quentin relax and enjoy themselves in Quentin's apartment in an...intimate way."As Peter’s zoned out, he thinks how ironic it is: a powerful superhero from some futuristic alternate dimension and another one who grew up around Tony Stark - constantly being spoiled with new tech that would feel so out of place in this ancient room, in an ancient country like this. He also thinks about how fitting it is, then, that they’re both stripped naked of those suits - stripped of the responsibility and implications the heavy metal armor bears.  How fitting it is that without those things, he feels so in place right here with Quentin."This is literally just a smutfic, as the tags say - no real plot. There is fluff towards the end. Happy reading!





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm not sure if everyone always reads the notes, but if you are reading - hello! This is the first fic I've ever posted on Ao3, though I have posted elsewhere. Don't let that discourage you though, please read, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Happy reading :)

Quentin has his back backed up against the headboard of his dark mahogany bed frame. There are thick purple curtains draped over Victorian windows, barely letting the morning sun shine in. It’s cramped but cozy in the small bedroom - two walls are made of brick and two of wood, revealing how old and dated the structure of the building is. As Peter’s zoned out, he thinks how ironic it is: a powerful superhero from some futuristic alternate dimension and another one who grew up around Tony Stark - constantly being spoiled with new tech that would feel so out of place in this ancient room, in an ancient country like this. He also thinks about how fitting it is, then, that they’re both stripped naked of those suits - stripped of the responsibility and implications the heavy metal armor bears. How fitting it is that without those things, he feels so in place right here with Quentin.

A groan interrupts Peter’s trailing, lazy thoughts, and a hot, wet, slow brush against his prostate. A throaty whine drifts out of Peter’s mouth, and Peter can’t help his eyes burning a hole into the wood headboard with his stare just millimeters away from where Quentin’s head rests, eyes shut blissfully, throat twitching thickly with swallows and small groans. His hair is a bit disheveled and his face is tan, dewy with sweat.

The noises fry Peter’s brain, but Quentin’s strong, obliviously cruel hands keep kneading his thighs, gripping the back of them. Quentin just barely stretches Peter’s ass when he pulls at the skin of his thighs, tugging his cheeks apart when he slides and sits forward on his thick cock. When Quentin thrusts up he pushes Peter’s inner thighs back with his thumbs, then pulling forward again, back and forth - tight, slow thrusts. Peter’s mind is reduced only to the rhythm of their hips meeting. His hand is splayed, quaking on Quentin’s furry chest, his other buried and fisting in the sheets beside his knee. 

The weight and girth of Quentin’s cock inside of him is intoxicating. Peter had never thought sex could feel so good. He remembers jacking off to pictures of pretty women, particularly sensual movie scenes set at pools or in bedrooms, and eventually pictures and videos of Captain America, Iron Man, and a few other Avengers. He never thought about it much, but when Mr. Stark showed up at his door and recruited him to fight alongside his heroes - sure he was excited beyond words - but those masturbation sessions were quickly riddled with awkward feelings of guilt and horror, flashbacks to battle. Then everything else happened. Peter doesn’t like to think on it much, but he can’t really help that.

When he came back from Titan, from nothingness - he went on this trip. It was supposed to be a break - one that was ever-so needed, but he just got dragged back into the chaos. With Quentin. Quentin. Quentin - his eyebrows knot on a particularly good grind down - Peter clutches at his partner’s chest. A desperate moan.

A victim of Thanos, too, - he thinks. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for any of this. Neither of them did. And yet here Quentin is, as Mysterio - battling elementals and fighting evil with good. Teaching Peter to survive, to move on. To rebuild and find life again, to find himself. Giving him a chance to understand what he wants for himself. He can feel Quentin's pec in his palm, hand pressed flat - he can feel Quentin’s shaky breath under his fingers. God, what he wants. Peter’s cock smears Quentin’s lower abdomen with a thick, scorching blurt of precum. Peter blushes impossibly hot across his face and chest. It’s sticking in Quentin’s happy trail.

A hero, just like all the other Avengers he’s admired for as long as he can remember. So powerful. He remembers seeing the force of Mysterio flying like magic, faster than ever, green clouds propelling him forward while his maroon cape flapped in the turbulent wind and mist. The whip of his arms casting spells and smoke in those golden gauntlets, the golden chest plate, his golden boots. ‘He stands so tall in those boots’, Peter thinks dimly. 

Those cold blue eyes. Quentin grunts. He’s so firm, Peter thinks, another bolt of lust rushing to his head when he stares lower at Quentin’s arms, his chest. Peter drags his hand across it all. It barely seems real. It’s perfect.

Peter gently leans forward into Quentin, burying his face in Quentin’s neck, his nose digging into the slope of his neck and shoulder. The left hand spread on Quentin’s chest drops shakily to the sheets at the edge of the bed behind Quentin’s back, the other lifting from where he was gripping the sheets to feel Quentin’s right pec for a second, rubbing and streaking across his nipple, further back until he’s reaching behind and gripping a firm spread of muscle on his upper back. Peter inhales into his neck, eyes fluttering for a second - sweat, salt, dark mahogany from the bed frame, the smallest bite of metal, and something else Peter has rarely smelled before (magic, he thinks. Something with a nip - chemical - that magic green smoke.) is what his attuned senses pick up. He can hear Quentin better. His heartbeat, all the drawn-out noises stuck somewhere lower than his throat. Quentin shifts to accommodate his lap-full better, sitting higher up on the headboard, hiking his feet further up the bed, knees higher, thick-muscled arms and hands traveling up to scratch at peter’s back - and a hand fists in his hair. 

Peter’s knees shake.

“Fuck, Peter. Fuck…”

Peter chokes a sob into Quentin’s neck. He can feel the rumble of Quentin’s voice in his chest, in his cock - he sounds so hoarse. Quentin’s hand is pulling, fingers tugging and tangling in Peter’s hair tortuously and it feels like wind and whiplash over a fire that started in his head. 

“So good for me.” He husks. Peter wails a muffled sob into the shoulder. 

Peter starts rocking on his thighs faster, picking up the pace. Completely lost in the sensation of Quentin’s hard, heavy cock blurring in and out of the tight ring of muscle, Peter digs his nails into the bed and Quentin’s back while a high-pitched, wobbly keen tumbles out from behind his gritted teeth. Quentin rasps a choppy, tense grunt when Peter picks up speed, almost as if surprised - and the slightly wet, slipping noises and pounds of him thrusting deeper, balls hitting Peter’s ass, fills the room. It’s obscene, and Peter can hear the bed creaking clearer now.

Peter’s mind gets fuzzy except for every sensation in his immediate surroundings. He can barely think, blood rushing all throughout his body from raw physical exertion and desire. His head lolls, forehead dropping to his teammate’s shoulder, picking up, rolling around until he leans the side of his face to Quentin’s head, whining over and over in his ear “Quentin, Quentin, Quentin, Quentin…” 

He seems to really like that.

“Peter - baby, hold on” In the next moment, Quentin slows their thrusts to a stop while he cradles Peter’s shoulders and back with one arm as he lowers Peter on his back, his head at the foot of the bed.

Peter has to cross his ankles at Quentin’s lower back so he can scooch forward on his knees, and when he does, his cock slides back in where they left off. Peter drops his head to the mattress, blissed out from the odd sensation. His cock is flushed pink, precum beading at the tip again. 

Looking up, it’s overwhelming to be surrounded by Quentin. His flushed, hairy chest is still heaving and splotching pink, arms and hands trapping Peter’s head with a steady weight that dips the mattress. His eyes are clouded, distant, and half-lidded yet focused, pinpoint, on Peter’s face. It’s unnerving, but it lights him up inside. So intense.

As Peter and Quentin pick up their pace again, Quentin fumbles to grab one of Peter’s arms from where he’s clutching the bed sheets, locks his hand around his wrist, squeezing, and presses it into the bed just above his head. There’s an animal look in Quentin’s eyes and a rough swing to his plowing hips that makes Peter want to scream. He whimpers and cries out, babbling “Quentin, Quentin, yes, yes, Quentin, yes”s as his whole body shakes with Quentin’s thrusts. He knows he’s close.

“Qu- Quentin I’m - I’m gon- ‘m close,” bed shaking, “Uh, ngh, ngh, Quentin”, Quentin growls a low, hoarse groan and pitches forward and down into the Peter, really fucking him into the mattress. Peter’s ankles lock firm against his back, jerking in time with the thrusts.

Peter can come like this, hell, he’s about to - but time drags as his eyes lose focus and tip further back in his skull. Quentin leans forward even further, his punishing pace still cresting, and digs his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, breathing harshly with the force he’s bending Peter with, fucking into him with. Peter can see the skin of Quentin’s neck and back flushing up close, a large mass of muscle pulsing with each thrust - and in the corner of his lazily focused eyes, Quentin’s hair is bouncing lightly, thick with sweat.

Peter feels, with overwhelming sensitivity, two things: Quentin’s teeth scrape Peter’s neck with an open-mouthed, wounded sigh, and then a breathless rumble of a voice that turns Peter’s entire left side into burning static,

“I’ve got you, Baby. Come”

The emotion and heat he feels from that alone is blinding, but before Peter can even register what's happening or what happened, he feels the hand that moved down to grip his hip with bruising force let go and grasp his swaying cock on a down stroke. His body seizes, muscles clenching still for a split second, mouth open on a silent scream - and comes. While he shoots and spills over Quentin’s abdomen and his own stomach, the silent scream winds open, shaping into a loud, punched-out, high-pitched sigh, and Quentin’s thrusts turn completely erratic. Quentin drops his hand from Peter’s cock, reaching up to clutch the sheet’s beside Peter’s head, boxing him in again - his other hand clutches harder around Peter’s wrist. As his pumping hips speed up, he gets distinctly quiet, flushing even darker than he had been before.

When he comes, Peter blinks in a haze at the sensation of Quentin emptying inside him. He doesn’t know what it is that makes it so incredibly hot - a number of things - all Peter knows is that he wants to feel it again. Quentin regains his voice when he orgasms, breathing out quiet, deep “Ahh, Ahh, fuck, Ahhh”s as his thrusts slow. 

Shortly after, he drops his face in the sheets beside Peter’s head, just breathing, and gently releases Peter’s wrist, holding it with a more tender intent now. Quentin’s thumb brushes thoughtfully over the bone of his wrist before he pulls out of Peter. It’s strange at first to feel the absence of Quentin’s large, warm cock from his body but he can’t think much on it now. His mind is winding down, body tired.

Quentin pushes himself off of Peter until he’s sitting on his feet. Peter’s definitely too tired to move, a bit nervous to look, but he can feel Quentin’s gaze roam over his body with a certain fond admiration. Before Peter gains the confidence to look at Quentin - he’s sure he’s also a lovely sight - Quentin steps off the bed, padding over to the bathroom where he hears the sink run for a second. When Quentin returns, Peter turns his head to look at him, but Quentin’s already standing at the foot of the bed, leaning over, wiping a wet towel over the drying come on his stomach. His heart flutters at the endearing act. 

Peter finally sits up and shifts around, climbing up the bed until he’s laying with his head resting on a pillow above his arm, legs curled in the messy covers. Once Quentin has wiped himself off, he throws the towel carelessly into the bathroom and ambles over to the opposite side of the bed where he lifts the sheets, climbing under the covers and scooching over until he’s close to Peter. 

Quentin turns to rest on his shoulder, just looking for a second until Peter mirrors him, resting on his shoulder, arm curled in front of Quentin’s chest. Quentin is a vision - hair looking perfectly messy, almost as if windswept - all strong features with his thick brows, neat beard, dark lashes and and big, inquisitive blue eyes staring right down at him. Peter can feel the power and intelligence swirling behind his eyes and simultaneously feels intimidated and vulnerable but safer than anything in the world. His chest and shoulders are broad, seeming even bigger up close, causing Peter to involuntarily curl further in on himself, into Quentin.

He feels Quentin’s fingers travel back through his hair, tucking curls behind his hair with a surprisingly gentle touch. It makes Peter shiver, and then blush, thinking of how he’s the same man that was grasping his wrist so roughly just minutes ago and how he, at the same time, can be so attentive in such a warm, lovely, genuine way.

“You’re incredible” 

A pause. 

Peter looks up at Quentin’s face with a demure, awed expression - breaking into a dopey, bashful smile that he hides away in the pillow for a second out of embarrassment. Into the pillow, quietly, shyly, “Thank you”

He turns his head from the pillow, looking into Quentin’s eyes.

“You’re not too bad yourself” He grins, immediately ducking his face centimeters away from Quentin’s chest as they laugh. He couldn’t say that with a straight face, barely even look into his eyes saying such a thing.

“You’re amazing” Peter says even quieter, staring into Quentin’s chest. He says it with a sweet and profound tone of honesty, but almost as if distracted, thinking back to every moment with Quentin, with Mysterio. Peter feels it’s an understatement.

Quentin, hand still running through Peter’s hair, gives an appreciative light tug at the comment. 

“What Fury told your school still stands. They still think you’ve been taken in as a witness for information on the scene... You can stay a while longer if you’d like”

Another pause.

“Please, stay.” 

Peter melts a bit at that.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

They fall asleep quickly, curled into each other. Peace.

**Author's Note:**

> That was pretty steamy, wasn't it? Haha! I hope you guys enjoyed it - and if you did, I would appreciate it so much if you leave a Kudos and ESPECIALLY if you comment - I will reply to any comments and it only takes a few seconds to type in your email, say a few words. Please - critique, make suggestions for future works, compliments - anything you give as feedback, I will appreciate.
> 
> Have a wonderful day/night and if you're reading this before FFH like me, then I hope you have a great time watching the movie! I sure can't wait. 
> 
> -Inconspicuous_Traveler


End file.
